By the time Mrs. Minever reached home, Girlie, much soothed by the ministrations of the doctor, had been put to bed. Here, in as much comfort as a bad and thoroughly alarmed conscience would permit, she was found with the grim and scandalized Pikey sitting by her side.
“How are you, my dear?” said the hostess, kindly.
The invalid, although still looking very white and strained, said feebly that she was feeling much better.
“I am so glad.” Mrs. Minever took the hand of the sufferer gently within her own. “The whole thing has been a little too much for you, I’m afraid. You must keep very quiet for a day or two, and the doctor says you must not think of going to Mrs. Lancelot’s, at least not until the end of the week.”
Girlie’s deep sigh expressed acute relief. With a feeling that was almost content she closed her eyes. In the next moment, however, she had opened them again in horror.
“The doctor says you must stay in bed—at any rate until your father comes.”
“My father!” Girlie’s gasp had a thrill in it.
“Yes, my dear.” The voice of Mrs. Minever was very gentle. “Lord Duckingfield and I have just telegraphed to Lord Carabbas. We have told him not to be alarmed, but we have begged him to come down here to-night, if he can, or by the first train to-morrow.”
It was as much as ever Girlie could do to repress a groan. But this fortitude was beyond the panic-stricken Pikey, who was following closely every word of the conversation. She walked to the window in a state of terror. At that moment she hardly knew how to keep from throwing herself out of it.
The hostess strictly enjoined the patient to get some sound and refreshing sleep and not to worry about anything, and then she left the room. As the kind lady withdrew she little guessed the scene of desolation upon which she softly closed the door. The Deputy and the duenna were left frozen with horror. They looked at one another in tragic dismay.